Valley of the Kings by Cecelia Holland Read Free Book Online Page A

and climbed down the rope.
    I had lowered my rope in exactly the same place as Ahmed’s, but still I did not see the hole in the cliff until I had almost passed it. It opened out a yard and a half to my left, a narrow keyhole shape in the face of the rock. I took my electric torch from my belt.
    For a moment I swung there on the end of the rope, one leg coiled around the rope to brake my weight. The cave was far enough down from the top of the cliff that Ahmed might not have heard the shot or the arguing or the scuffling above his head. There was no light inside the cave, not a sign of movement, nothing. I covered the torch’s face with my hand and turned it on, opening my fingers to let out a thin beam of light.
    The gleam showed me the first few feet of the cave. It was empty. I shut off the torch, stuffed it into the waistband of my trousers, and swung on the rope into the cave.
    My foot hit the side. I bit my lip to keep from grunting at the pain. Ahmed was here somewhere. I still held the rope in my hand, and I gave a jerk on it and let go. A moment later the old man drew it up away from me.
    I took the electric torch in one hand and the gun in the other.
    â€œAhmed,” I called.
    Abruptly I thought to look over my shoulder. I was standing in front of the cave opening, silhouetted for anyone coming from within the cave. I ducked down like a rabbit.
    There was no sound from within the cave. I raised my voice.
    â€œAhmed!”
    â€œWho’s there?” a voice called, from the impenetrable darkness.
    â€œIt’s Howard Carter,” I said. “Come out, and let’s talk about how you’re getting home.”
    Silence. Although I strained my ears, I could hear nothing down there. I wondered how far away he was—if he had a gun, too.
    â€œAhmed,” I called. “We’ve taken up your rope, and mine as well. Either you leave now, or you can stay here, permanently.”
    â€œYou’ll stay too, Carter Bey!” came from the darkness.
    â€œI’m willing,” I said. “I ate a late supper.”
    More silence. The wind fluttered along the cliff outside. It was warmer in the tunnel than in the open. I wondered how far back it went, this tunnel, and what lay at the end, and my nerves quickened.
    The man down the tunnel said, “Where is Fuad?”
    â€œHe surrendered to us,” I said.
    Ahmed began to swear. He was angry, and he made a colorful choice of words.
    â€œYes, yes,” he said, after a series of other phrases. “I will go. You are a bad man. I will go, as you say.”
    I put out my head into the open and bellowed to the old man to lower the rope. Muttering at me, Ahmed crawled into the throat of the tunnel. I switched on my electric torch. My first sight of him rattled me: in spite of his youth, he was an enormous man, brawny, muscular, the true southern type. His eyes rolled at me. His breath hissed between his clenched teeth. The rope slapped down against the cliff wall nearby us.
    â€œGo on,” I said.
    â€œEnglish pig.”
    â€œWhat did you call me?”
    He reached out for the rope and swung agilely across the face of the cliff, paddling in the air with his feet, and hoisted himself out of sight up toward the clifftop.
    The tunnel was mine. I sat still a moment, shaking off the tension gathered in the routing of Ahmed. The place seemed much larger now, inviting. On hands and knees I started into the tunnel, pushing the torch on ahead of me.
    â€œCarter,” the villager called. His voice was faint.
    I slid backwards to the mouth of the tunnel again and put my head out. “Just a minute. I will come up presently.”
    â€œCarter!”
    With the torch lighting the way, I crept on hands and knees into the tunnel. Ten feet from the opening in the cliff the walls pinched in so narrow I had to slide through sideways. I held the torch ahead of me but all it showed me was the rough wall of the fissure. That was all it